


Let Go

by RipUpTheEnding



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Dean Smith - Freeform, Dean Smith verse, Dean has a lot of passion and Cas just wants to bring it out, Endverse!Castiel, Finger Sucking, Frottage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Never Have I Ever, Recreational Drug Use, Sharing a Bed, Shotgunning, referenced self-fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-12 17:19:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10495842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RipUpTheEnding/pseuds/RipUpTheEnding
Summary: A mix-up on a business trip forces Endverse!Cas and Dean Smith to share a hotel room.~~~There’s a pause, just long enough to notice the charge in the air in place of words, and Cas would bet the last of his liquor that Dean’s about to go full on Hulk mode any second. Cas is already in preservation mode, scouring the lobby for escape routes when Dean points at the receptionist and spits out, "This isbullshit."And it’s that word—bullshit—so tame and innocuous really, but said with such passion and just a hint of trepidation, that does Cas in.Bullshit,Cas mouths finally taking off his sunglasses and stuffing them in his shirt pocket. Cas groans, eyes blinking rapidly against the light now hammering at the last of his hangover, but he wouldn’t miss this for the world. In fact, heneedsto see this. Needs to get a real good look at Mr. Big-Shot-Sandover, the mysterious and stoic Dean Smith, unraveling before his very eyes.It's kinda fucking beautiful.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [DeanCas Tropefest Mid-Winter 5k](http://deancastropefest.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Once again, endless thanks and praise to Muse and Jojo for yet another fabulous challenge. Seriously, my AO3 will soon be nothing more than an homage to you guys and the challenge chats. I love you all so much! <3

“You’ve got to be kidding me right now,” Dean says for what is probably the tenth time in as many minutes. Cas lost track somewhere around the third “kidding me” but Dean’s a broken record and isn’t stopping anytime soon. “Sandover was supposed to reserve us one _room,_ not one _bed_.”

“Yes, sir. That’s correct and they did—”

“Then what’s the problem?”

The receptionist pauses and folds her hands on the desk, brow pinched and mouth pursed, avoiding Dean’s eyes. “It would seem that when the reservation came in, a mistake was made…”

“A mistake?” Dean asks, hands on his hips in what is probably supposed to be an authoritative gesture but comes off more like a child throwing a temper tantrum. Cas snorts to himself as he sneaks a sip from his flask because this whole situation is ridiculous, but Dean… Well, Cas isn’t sure exactly what’s happening to Dean, but watching him slowly lose it is making for a pretty good show. “What sort of mistake?”

“The thing is…” The receptionist clears her throat and looks up, this time locking eyes with Dean. “You both have the same last name, so when the reservation came in, we just assumed…”

“Well, then unassume!”

“I’m sorry, sir, but as I’ve said, we’re at full capacity tonight. I’ll talk to my boss about comping the room since it’s our mistake, but it’s this room or nothing.” She shrugs and laughs nervously, a weak breathy noise. “What can I say? It’s our busy season.”

There’s a pause, just long enough to notice the charge in the air in place of words, and Cas would bet the last of his liquor that Dean’s about to go full on Hulk mode any second. Cas is already in preservation mode, scouring the lobby for escape routes when Dean points at the receptionist and spits out, “This is _bullshit._ ”

And it’s that word— _bullshit_ —so tame and innocuous really, but said with such passion and just a hint of trepidation, that does Cas in.

 _Bullshit,_ Cas mouths finally taking off his sunglasses and stuffing them in his shirt pocket. Cas groans, eyes blinking rapidly against the light now hammering at the last of his hangover, but he wouldn’t miss this for the world. In fact, he _needs_ to see this. Needs to get a real good look at Mr. Big-Shot-Sandover, the mysterious and stoic Dean Smith, unraveling before his very eyes. 

It's kinda fucking beautiful.

“Yeeeeeah, I’m gonna need to speak to your manager,” Dean finally says, slashing through the now very palpable silence.

“If that’s what you want, sir,” the receptionist frowns. “I’ll try to get her on the phone but—”

“Manager!” Dean hisses as he pounds his fist on the desk. “Fucking bullshit. That’s what this is right here. This is a _business_ trip. We’re practically strangers and you expect us to sleep in a bed together because _you_ make a mistake? _Fucking. Bullshit._ ” There’s a fresh sheen of sweat misting his forehead, his chest heaves with each breath, and a bright flush is making it’s way up Dean’s neck, just barely visible now above his tightly buttoned collar and perfectly knotted tie.

Scratch ‘kinda beautiful.’ Dean’s a fucking vision and Cas just found his true purpose in life: take Dean Smith apart piece by piece. Make him beg and cry and come until he finishes dry. It would be a tragedy not to, really.

Dean pounds his fist on the desk again, this time leaning over it and pointing a menacing finger at the desk clerk, her eyes now wide as saucers.

“Now you tell her—” he begins and that’s all Cas can take. Sighing, he threads his fingers together and stretches, arches his back and his neck, rolls his shoulders forward and back. And then Cas is on him, pulling him away, hand gripping Dean’s left bicep hard enough to leave a brand. Dean rounds on him on instinct, eyes wild and frantic, but stops dead when his gaze settles on Cas: still, calm, and hands raised in peace.

“Shit!” Dean recoils and rakes a shaky hand through his hair, exhaling nervously. “You gotta stop sneaking up on me like that, man! Need to get you a damn bell or something...”

“And you need to chill.” With his hands still up, palms out, Cas takes a slow step towards Dean and tilts his head, questioning. Dean nods, tight, and Cas takes another step closer and then another until he’s closed the distance between them. 

Carefully, he places his hand on Dean’s back, just between his shoulder blades; a comforting gesture but not crossing a line, not yet. Initially Dean gasps, tenses up, but before Cas can even think about moving his hand the moment passes. Dean exhales and relaxes into the touch. Cas gives him a reassuring squeeze and turns to the totally baffled receptionist. He’d laugh if he wasn’t so used to people looking at him that way.

“How big’s the bed?”

“Uhh…” The woman blinks and clears her throat. “King.”

“King?”

“California king, to be exact.”

Cas pauses and hums, then nods like he actually had to think it over. “We’ll take it.”

“We will?” Dean peeps up, voice about three octaves too high.

“Yes, Dean, we will. I can stay on my side of the bed.” Cas turns his head toward Dean and their noses bump. Dean’s pupils blow. “Can you?”

Dean swallows, throat clicking, as his eyes search Cas’s face. When Cas gives him a lazy smile, Dean tenses again and turns his head but he doesn’t pull away.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Yeah, I’m good. We’ll take it.” He snatches one of the key cards off the counter and storms out of the lobby.

Cas drums his fingers on the second key card before he slides it across the counter and waits. On an exhale, he looks up, locking eyes with the receptionist. By now she’s so fucking done, but Cas is running on adrenaline and he can’t keep his mouth shut.

“At last count there were 2,855,912 people with the last name ‘Smith’ in the United States alone.” Cas taps the key card on the counter and then points it at the receptionist as he backs away. “Your boss might want to hire some smarter fucking staff.”

_~~~_

“You ever played Never Have I Ever?” Cas asks sometime later after they’ve finally settled into the room.

“Why? You find some alcohol around this dump? ‘Cause I fucking need it." Dean palms the back of his neck, blushing as soon as he says the word, and it’s so damn gorgeous Cas has to bite back a whimper. Literally. His mouth is bitter with copper by the time Dean speaks again.

"I'm not usually like this,” Dean says through a heavy sigh. “It’s just been a bad week. I’ve had a lot of pressure on me at work and I’m on this damn liquid cleanse and I’m exhausted. So when they told me there was only one bed, I just lost it.” He pauses, sighs again, then looks up at Cas with wide eyes, like something very important just dawned on him. “That’s it, I swear. It’s not because you’re…”

“Because I’m what?” Cas raises a smug brow and waits for Dean to fill in the blank.

“…you know.”

It would be fun to watch him squirm some more, but he’s already so red Cas can barely see his freckles anymore which is basically a crime against nature. Cas takes pity on him. “Because I fuck around with guys.”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbles. “’Cause you’re gay.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “I thought we’d gotten over you trying to label me.”

“That’s usually what you call someone who gets fucked by guys.”

“Who says I’m the one getting fucked?”

Dean swallows.

“’Sides, men, women, non-binary, no label: I don’t discriminate.” Cas shrugs. “I like what I like.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Sexuality’s a spectrum,” Cas says casually but Dean’s looking at him like maybe he was just let in on the secret of the universe and _holy fuck. Did Dean really not know this before? What else is hiding under that stiff mask of Dean Smith?_ But one revelation at a time. “Don’t worry about it. You’re fine. We don’t know each other well but I know you don’t care who I sleep with.”

Dean shrugs with one shoulder. “Well, I _am_ sorry about the outburst anyway. Then and now.”

“No, need to apologize there, Smith. It's a good look on you.”

“Yeah?”

 _Let me fuck you and you’ll find out_. “Yeah,” Cas says, shrugging nonchalantly, as he bends over to rummage through his duffel bag when he could just as easily squat or put the bag on the bed. “And to answer your first question: of _course_ I have alcohol, but I also have something even better... Ah ha! There you are!” Still bent over, Cas turns to Dean, waving the little box triumphantly.

Dean gulps. "Is that…”

“Yes, it is.” Standing up, Cas takes a pre-roll from the box and lights it, taking a deep drag. It’s a strain he hasn’t tried before and the smoke hits the back of his throat with a satisfying kick. He holds it until his lungs stop burning and the initial desire to cough passes. He exhales slowly and Dean watches, licking his lips.

“Uhh…”

“What's the matter?” Cas asks as he takes another long drag, stepping right up into Dean’s space. He exhales slowly as he speaks, the heady smoke painting pictures in the air between them. “Mr. Big-Shot-Sandover never smoked weed before?

Dean’s mask fades just a little. His lips quirk as he snatches the joint from Cas and then, never breaking eye contact, takes a long slow pull of his own. Cas is impressed as fuck, even when Dean breaks into a coughing fit at the very end of his exhale.

“Not bad, Smith. Not fucking bad at all.”

Dean shrugs dismissively and Cas starts to see a pattern. “Used to be better but it’s been a while. A _long_ while.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get you back into fighting shape in no time at all.” Cas takes another deep drag. “Game?” he asks on the exhale.

Dean chews on his already obscenely plump lips, thinking. “Never Have I Ever? How would it work?”

“Instead of taking a drink for everything you’ve done, you take a hit.”

Dean chews his lip again, nods. “Ok. I’m in,” he says, holding out his right hand for a handshake.

Cas laughs and rolls his eyes, waving Dean off. “Just get comfortable,” Cas says, finally, _finally_ shucking off his wrinkled excuse of for dress clothes and settling onto the bed in his boxers and a plain, white undershirt. When Cas pats the bed, Dean gapes.

“Jesus Christ, Smith. Loosen up and get over here already.”

“I should probably call the office first and check my emails and…” The longer Dean rambles, the more he tenses up and Cas is having none of that, not now that he’s seen a bit of what Dean’s like under all of that armor. He cuts Dean off with a loud groan and an exaggerated eye roll.

“Yeah, that sounds like the exact opposite of what I just said.”

“But—”

“I swear to God, Dean Smith, if you don’t get your toned ass over here right this second…”

Dean blushes at the compliment but it spurs him immediately into action, almost like he was waiting for permission, or more interesting still, an order. Cas didn’t expect this but he can work with it. He can _so_ work with it. 

Taking another slow pull on the joint, Cas drinks in his fill of Dean, now standing next to the bed, slowing undressing. It’s too slow to be a strip tease, too fresh with vulnerability and nerves to be anything close to sexy, but Cas finds himself entranced nonetheless.

Everything about Dean is purposeful, from the careful way he holds himself and keeps him emotions in check, to the way his deft fingers move as they unbutton his dress shirt and unbuckles his belt, letting it hang there in the loops as he opens his pants, both pieces of clothing still starch crisp after hours of wear, right down to the perfect pleat in the dress pants. Dean Smith is an enigma.

“Tell me you did not iron this pleat into your pants,” Cas says, running his finger down the prominent line.

Dean shivers but quickly pulls himself together, fingers stopped on his zipper and eyes locked with Cas’s. “I did not iron the pleats in my pants.”

Snorting, Cas raises a brow.

“I didn’t! Scouts honor.” Dean diverts his eyes as he yanks the belt from its loops and mumbles, “Becka did.”

“Excuse me? What was that? I don’t think I heard you.”

“Becka did it. _Becka did it!_ Happy?”

Cas narrows his eyes, frowning when Dean slips out of his dress shirt and carefully folds it, placing it neatly in the dresser drawer. “Who’s Becka? Girlfriend?” Cas presses, his stomach strangely sour.

“My cleaning lady.”

“Your cleaning lady.”

“Yeah.”

“Your cleaning lady ironed the pleat in your pants.”

“Yeah.” Dean’s still wearing his confident mask but he folds his arms over his chest defensively.

“Well, fuck. That’s even worse.”

Dean turns his back on Cas and plops downs on the edge of the bed, removing his shoes and socks just as carefully as he removed everything else. “Are you gonna keep teasing me or are we gonna play the fucking game?” Dean glares at Cas over his shoulder, but when he starts to fold his socks, it’s the last fucking straw.

“Oh, for the love of…” Cas grabs the socks from Dean and throws them across the room.

“What the fuck, man?”

“Yeah, Okay. We’re not playing this game until you loosen up and relax. I mean it.”

“I’m relaxed.”

Cas narrows his eyes.

“I am!” Dean insists, only to lose all his steam when Cas continues to stare him down. “What—” Dean swallows and looks down where he’s nervously wringing his fingers together. “You said to get undressed. I’m getting undressed.” Looking up, Dean swallows. “What else should I do?”

“Well,” Cas says and then pauses, considering the offer for a moment. Dean’s asking for this, but still best to take it slow. “For starters you’re going to unfold everything and throw it all in a messy pile on the floor.”

“You fucker.”

“Hey, you asked,” Cas shrugs smugly. “So, go on.”

Dean sets his jaw but he doesn’t hesitate this time, just follows Cas’s order without question, and by the time Dean’s down to his crisp white undershirt and body forming boxers, the rest of his clothes discarded haphazardly on the floor, Cas is flying high. It’s a heady thing to be handed control, especially by someone like Dean.

Cas pats the bed again and Dean settles down next to him, freckled legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, hands folded in his lap. Dean’s guards are coming down, but his voice holds a slight tremble when asks, softly, “And now what?”

“Time for step two.”

“Step two?” Dean gulps, eyes wide when he glances at Cas. 

Chuckling, Cas pats Dean on the thigh and takes another long pull of the joint, holding the smoke in until his head spins. “More weed, Smith. _Lots and lots_ more weed. You ready?”

“Bring it.”

“Never have I ever been fucked in the ass.” Cas takes a pull of the joint and Dean breaks into a coughing fit.

“Jesus Christ, man. Right for the jugular!”

“Hey, you said bring it.” Cas offers the joint to Dean but he declines, a bit sheepishly, like it’s a half lie. There’s a story, no doubt, and Cas is going to figure it if it’s the last thing he does. But there’s a method to his madness. “I can dial it back a notch if you can’t handle it.”

Dean turns to Cas then, lays on his left side and props his head up with his hand. “I can handle it,” he says the very picture of confidence and alpha male, a defense mechanism, automatic and well practiced by now, but also well worn and full of cracks. Cas sees right through it.

“You don’t have to do this,” Cas murmurs as he runs the pad of his thumb across Dean’s cheek bone, back and forth, then down his nose to his bottom lip. “You don’t have to pretend. And you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Dean swallows and sighs, subtly nuzzling Cas’s hand. “I’m good.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Cas sits back, dragging his thumb over Dean’s bottom lip as he continues to hold eye contact. “Never have I ever streaked through my college campus.” 

After Cas takes a hit, Dean reaches for the joint but stops himself, smirking. “First of all, it’s my turn, you damn cheater.”

Cas shoves Dean playfully, laughing on the exhale. “Who, me?”

“And second of all, aren’t you supposed to say things you _haven’t_ done? That’s why it’s called ‘Never Have I Ever.’”

“Smith,” Cas chuckles and he swears he can feel his own pupils expand as Dean hangs on his every move, every word. “If I could only say things I’ve never done, then this game would be over before it started.”

Dean swallows, eyes searching Cas’s face, and _holy fuck those are definitely Dean’s pupils blowing out._ “Is that a challenge?”

“Take it however you want.”

“What I want is to find something you haven’t done.”

“Well, we don’t always get what we want.”

“I do,” Dean says evenly and then he stops, clenching his jaw, muscles spasming at the hinge in what appears to be a desperate attempt to keep in control. He’s losing. “Generally.”

Passing the joint, Cas nods, trying to hide the unexpected flush rising on his face. “Then I welcome you to try.”

“Never have I ever fucked someone in the ass.” Dean takes a hit and Cas smirks as he takes back the joint. “If you can say stuff you’ve done, so can I.”

“Who’s complaining? I’m impressed, actually. I mean, totally vanilla by my standards, but I’m proud of you.”

Dean blushes.

“Never have I ever fucked a guy in the ass,” Cas says, taking another hit and offering the joint back to Dean.

He shakes his head but takes it, clearing his throat. “Never have I ever gotten a blow job.” His voice goes a little high at the end and Cas is about to throw a fucking protest at the lame topic when Dean adds, voice soft and strained, “from a guy.”

And now they’re finally getting somewhere. Cas nods in approval as he takes one long pull of the joint and then a second. “Never have I ever given a blow job.”

Dean swallows, throat clicking when he accepts the joint and takes an equally long drag, and for a moment Cas just lays there blinking because Dean Smith gave a guy a blow job and he fucking admitted it. It’s Cas’s turn to swallow, mouth gaping like a goddamn fish.

“And loved it,” Dean adds sucking in another lungful of smoke. And that’s it. That’s fucking it. Cas reaches out, threading his fingers through Dean’s hair and Dean jumps, coughing violently on the exhale.

“C’mere,” Cas whispers with a smirk, quirking his head.

Dean gulps. “Why?”

Cas flexes his fingers in Dean’s hair, pulling as he rolls his hips. They both gasp and yep, that’s Dean’s dick stabbing Cas’s thigh. He’s hard as a rock and whimpering, hips twitching as they lie pressed together on their sides. “Never have I ever shotgunned.”

“What?” Dean blinks, confused, when Cas plucks the joint from between his lax fingers and takes a hit, pulling in the thick smoke until his lungs burn.

Dean gasps when their lips touch but he gets with the program right away; opens up soft and sweet when Cas thumbs at his jaw, inhales the smoke from Cas’s lungs and holds it. And then he’s exhaling and they’re kissing and rutting together like horny teenagers. And Dean’s so pliant and open and beautiful and it’s everything Cas ever needed and nothing he even knew he wanted; and he’s finally got it—fucking _finally—_ but then Dean’s pulls away and slaps his armor back on, piece by piece like fucking Iron Man.

Cas’s heart breaks. 

“Why are you like this?” he asks, not realizing he’s said it out loud until Dean answers.

“Like what?”

“Like this,” Cas says, using his free hand to motion at Dean from top to bottom. “Like you got a stick up your ass that’s gonna kill you if you’re not perfect or, god fucking forbid, you allow yourself even one moment of pleasure.”

“Wow,” Dean says once and the sound shatters what’s left of Cas’s heart. He opens his mouth to take it all back because it was a total dick move—now is definitely not the time to be brutally honest—but Dean cuts him off before the thought is even fully formed, waving a hand. “Nah, man. It’s okay.”

“Dean…”

“It’s okay because you’re right. I do have a fucking stick up my ass and I don’t know why. I mean, what do I got to be stressed about, anyway? I got a steady job, great pay and benefits. My little sister Jo’s off living her dream traveling with our mom, Ellen, and I don’t have any student loans ‘cause my dad, Bobby, well,” Dean pauses here, shaking his head with a self-depreciating laugh, “his auto restoration shop took off while I was in high school and he helped me pay my way. And, oh. Oh, here’s the kicker, Cas. You ready?”

Cas nods.

“My parents are still married.” Another pause. “Happily.”

“You’re kidding me,” Cas deadpans because he called that part at least from the very start. “But if you ask me, seems like all that's exactly what you have to be stressed about.”

“What’re you talking about, man? My life’s great.”

Cas raises a brow. “Sounds like a lot of pressure to me. A lot to live up to.”

“Fine,” Dean admits after another pause, plucking the joint from the makeshift ashtray cup next to Cas and taking another hit. “My life’s not perfect. _I’m_ not perfect. I got my share of baggage like everyone does but it’s not like that. Not really anyway. It’s this damn job,” Dean says as he idly picks at a thread on the sheets. “There’re a hundred people who’d kill for this position, Cas, but me… this wasn’t supposed to be my life. I mean, you know that right?”

“I’m starting to see that.”

“Sandover was just supposed to be a stepping stone. That’s it. A way to get my foot in the door and save some money while I looked for a job more specific to my field.” 

“Which is?”

“Architecture. I was supposed to design buildings, Cas. Beautiful fucking buildings. Now all I do is design spreadsheets.” Dean shakes his head and takes another deep pull of the joint, closing his eyes with a sigh on the exhale. “You’d have a stick up your fucking ass too.”

Dean smiles lazily as he passes the last of the joint back to Cas, and his face is so fucking relaxed and open and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. It makes Cas want to open up to. 

“Never have I ever been in love,” he says before he really knows why, because he hadn’t meant to be _that_ open, but then Dean’s taking the joint and rolling his eyes as he takes a hit. It’s not until he’s exhaling that it all register’s on Dean’s face, his eyes first going wide with shock and then quickly transforming into something softer.

“You wanted to find something I haven’t done,” Cas shrugs, not looking at Dean. “There it is.”

 _It’s not pity in his eyes,_ Cas realizes as Dean kisses him then, deep and slow, the pungent but welcome taste of weed on his tongue. _Not pity at all but empathy._

“Sap,” Dean murmurs after a moment, pulling back from the kiss. And part of Cas wants to protest because it was the best damn kiss of his life, but the other part of him knows why Dean stopped and he agrees. Something is happening between them, something the kiss revealed, something more, but Cas has armor of his own. This will have to be a work in progress. They’ll have to make it up as they go.

“I’m the sap?” Cas asks playfully, threading his fingers through Dean’s hair and tilting his head back. “What was that kiss then? I think you might be going soft on me.”

Dean chuckles and scoots closer to Cas on the bed. “Soft?” he asks with a roll of his hips, their full cocks rubbing together through their boxers. They both hiss as they rock together slowly. “You might want to rethink that one.”

“Your dirty talk sucks, Smith.”

“You suck.”

“Not on the first date.”

“Liar.

“Big. Fat. Liar,” Cas pants and Dean whimpers. “But tonight I have something else in mind...”

Before Dean can ask, Cas taps two fingers against Dean’s lips; a question. Dean answers by immediately sucking Cas’s fingers into his mouth, moaning around them and lapping greedily at each digit.

“That’s it, baby. Get ‘em nice and wet for me.” Sometime later when Cas pulls his fingers free, Dean whimpers again. Cas gives him an even look and once again taps his fingers—now spit slick—against Dean’s lips. “Well, I was planning on putting these in your ass but if you’d rather them back in your mouth—”

“No!” Dean gasps and then blushes furiously, looking away. He’s so beautiful Cas’s chest aches.

“Can I ask you something?” Cas ventures after a moment, remembering something that’s now become relevant.

Dean nods. “What?”

“Earlier, the question about being fucked. Why did you hesitate?”

“No one else has ever fucked me but...”

“But?”

“But I have fucked myself.”

“You like toys, Smith?”

“Who said anything about toys?”

Cas nearly comes. “Fuck, Smith,” he pants, teeth gritted as his snakes his hand down the back of Dean’s boxers and then nearly comes again when he finds Dean already open and lose, slightly slick. “You really are a kinky one, huh? You do this all the time?”

“Yes,” Dean gasps, biting his lip to hide a moan when Cas presses both fingers inside.

“None of that. Don’t hide those pretty sounds from me, baby,” Cas chides, gently brushing Dean’s sweat soaked hair off of his forehead. “Didn't anyone ever tell you it's okay to let go?”

Dean tenses and for a moment Cas thinks he’s lost him again, but then Dean exhales, every trace of tension bleeding from his body by the time he whispers, “No.”

“Let go,” Cas says.

And for the first time, Dean does.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to Ash for betaing :) 
> 
> If you're interested in any of my writing, original or fanfic, you can find out more here: [LivMasters.com/Me](http://livmasters.com/me/)
> 
> If you want to chat, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/RipUpTheEnding) where I spend my free time obsessing over all the things I love.
> 
> Come say hi and join the madness <3
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr](http://ripuptheending.com/).


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